


The Snake Hunters

by wrennette



Series: Trashpile: A Compendium of Unfinished Fics [6]
Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: AU, Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Alternate Universe, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-01
Updated: 2017-06-01
Packaged: 2018-11-07 13:05:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11059593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wrennette/pseuds/wrennette
Summary: In which after being imprisoned by the Cardassians, Owen Paris raises his children to fight them from within Starfleet and the Federation.





	The Snake Hunters

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place in the 'verse spawned by the AOS, although this does affect much in this snippet

#### Initiation

“Snake hunting, they call it,” Julia Paris said indulgently, leaning against her husband’s solid strength. “They’ve developed quite the disdain for Cardassians. Unfortunately, being the smallest, poor Tom is most often forced to be the Cardassian. Whoever is the Cardassian runs and hides, and the others are Starfleet, going to make war,” she explained, watching their three children play in the yard.

“Snake hunting,” Owen Paris repeated, and shook his head, but watched carefully. Nearly caught by one of his older sisters, Tom eeled away, giving Moira a solid thwack on the arm for her trouble. Of course, that only incited the older girl. At fourteen to Tom’s barely eight, she had a significant size advantage, but Tom was decidedly fast and slippery, and had the vaunted Paris stubbornness to boot. 

“Children,” Julia called, and the game ceased immediately. The three children raced over, lining up by age and coming to perfect parade ground attention. Kathleen, sixteen and flaxen haired as her mother, with eyes so pale they hardly had any color at all and a dancer’s innate grace. Moira, fourteen, red haired and grey eyed, a smattering of freckles over her milk pale skin and almost as poised as her sister. Thomas, eight just a few days before, with honey blonde hair streaked through with paler highlights, and eyes the bright blue of summer sky. They all took after their mother in build, framed long and lean and light.

“Snake hunting?” Owen asked, and the children all held at perfect attention. From the time they could walk they had been emulating their father, now a ‘Fleet Admiral. “I appreciate your desire for vengeance,” Owen said, his smile tight and slightly unpleasant. “But the Federation will make no move against Cardassia. While I know this is just a game, it is a dangerous one. Criticizing the Federation will not be tolerated.” 

The children blanched, anticipating their father’s displeasure. He was often gone, and deeply idolized by all three of them. When he was home, they all strove to please him. And they had all known the weight of his hand on their bottoms when they had misbehaved in the past. Owen smiled again. 

“Now, if we truly want to defeat the Cardassians, it will take hard work,” Owen warned. “We must train, every day, to prepare ourselves. Cardassia will not stop in their grab for power. They will come, unceasing, until someone, somewhere takes a stand. I fear that someone will not be the Federation though. So if we desire justice, we may need to betray the Federation, betray Starfleet. And we must never speak of it to anyone,” Owen said firmly.

The children seemed to straighten further, eager for the burden their father would place on their shoulders as they understood that they were not to be punished but given a mission. Owen nodded. They were good cadets. He glanced at his wife. She nodded after a brief hesitation. It would be hardest on her, Owen knew. While she had been raised in a ‘Fleet family, she had no training herself, having been a musician of some note prior to her marriage. 

“I may not be able to truly fight, but I can be useful in other ways,” Julia said gently. “Indeed, even if a force forms against the Cardassians, you yourself may be most useful where you are, at Starfleet. You are the latest in the long line of Admirals Paris. Imagine what you can do with that title,” Julia reminded, and Owen’s smile softened. He leaned into his slightly taller wife and bussed her fair cheek.

“This is why I love you,” Owen said warmly. “The smartest lady in ‘Fleet, and she doesn’t even wear the uniform.” Julia blushed sweetly, and Owen turned his warm smile on his children. “It is as your mother says. We may harm the Cardassians most not as soldiers, but as information gatherers. We begin in the morning. I will teach you how, and when the time comes, you will go to the Academy, and you will learn everything you can. Cardassia will be defeated, we will see to that.” 

“Aye Admiral,” the children said firmly in unison, giving perfect salutes. Owen drew himself and saluted in turn, then dismissed them to play, something other than snake hunting. Mentally, Owen began drawing up plans. Most important, he was sure, would be teaching them subterfuge. All of them were aware of their social responsibilities as ‘Fleet elites already, but it would take far more intensive training to be able to fool telepaths and empaths, training that was usually only given to those taking up command of ‘Fleet starships. Training their bodies would be important as well, but the mind, Owen thought, was the deadliest weapon.

* * *

#### The Agogee

Tom whirled away from the slashing waster, escaping a sharp rap to his ribs. He twisted and darted and brought his own practice weapon across with all his strength, grunting softly. Kathleen grunted softly in reply as she took the blow, her grey eyes snapping with adrenaline. They fought on, whirling and twisting, thrusting and slashing. 

Eventually Tom’s quickness faded under weariness, and Kathleen’s greater strength and reach stood her in good stead. A rap to the belly sent Tom to his knees, and Kathleen had the waster at the juncture of his shoulder and neck, the soft skin where a knife could easily part the skin and sever the integral artery. Tom nodded his defeat, and Kathleen stepped back, both of them panting as she offered her little brother her hand. 

All three children wore their hair shorn close to their heads now, although not unattractively so, the girls sporting cute pixie cuts. They trained wearing street clothes of every sort, or occasionally formal wear or mock uniforms. Owen wanted them prepared for any situation. They trained with bladed weapons and old fashioned projectile weapons, modern energy weapons and empty handed. They meditated and ordered their minds. They trained their memories and intellects. They learned Bajoran and Cardassian and about the various cultures of those planets and the frontier worlds. And they did it all while perfecting their facades of being a normal ‘Fleet family.

The children weren’t the only ones training. Julia took up physical training as well, although not as extensively. She already knew a number of languages, but she worked on her recall and her marksmanship, and on her subtle charm. At ‘Fleet soirees she began testing her abilities, shielding herself from telepaths and empaths and drawing information out of her conversational partners. She and Owen made a game of it; he would set a goal for her, a certain bit of information to be acquired over the course of the evening, and off she would go. No one ever suspected a thing.

“I’m going to see if I can turn Janeway,” Owen said one morning a few years after they had begun training. Their eldest girl would be off to Starfleet Academy in a few months, and would practice her encryption skills keeping in touch with the family. “I did my best to protect her when she was captured with me, that’s a coercible avenue. And she’s fiery, despite that she likes to play at ice queen.” Julia hesitated, then nodded.

“Just be careful,” Julia warned. “All it would take is one word into the ears of Intelligence to see our plans ruined.” And they truly were all of their plans now. Even in the few years since they had begun their preparations, Cardassia had pushed deeper toward Federation territory. A confrontation was brewing. Already the Federation was talking treaty though, and Owen was positioning himself to be involved with whatever happened. He might not have much personal feeling about the frontier worlds, but he didn’t want to give the Cardassians a damn thing. 

Kathleen went to Academy as planned, her hair dressed in a stylish bob that didn’t hamper her in a fight but flattered her angular face. For her seventeenth birthday, she had been sent to a pleasure house on Risa and been trained by the playful attendants there how to use her body to fullest effect. She hadn’t been a virgin since, although she could fake innocence deftly. It was as much about how to walk and hold herself as actual sex, and the training stood her in good stead, helping disguise her now ingrained fighting instincts. 

Two years later, Moira followed Kathleen, first to Risa, then to Starfleet Academy. There was no war yet, but talk of ceding frontier worlds was intensifying, the language of the debate becoming more caustic. Owen took the middle path where he was able, giving away very little of his personal feelings on the situation and earning a reputation as a mediator. Meanwhile, Owen and Julia both were feeling out contacts on those frontier worlds, seeing where the hotspots were and determining where, when the resistance against the Cardassians formed, it would be strongest and most ready to act.

Tom took the trip to Risa at fourteen, and returned there frequently in the following years. He was a prodigy at navigation and flight control, and could have earned a doctorate in aeronautical engineering at fifteen if his intellect weren’t to be hidden at all costs. He learned how to use his body and mind to best effect, and perfected an attitude of nonchalance and wilful rebellion. In private, Tom was assured of his father’s pride in him and love for him, but in public they purposefully struck a different tone, the two girls portraying dutiful daughters and Tom taking the role of wild child.

By the time Tom entered the Academy at seventeen, he was nearly ten years in preparation for a war that was just warming up. His sisters were already posted in positions their family had carefully considered for most advantage. Kathleen had a degree in thermodynamics, and was slyly looting the archives of weapons development, encrypting and sending off all the schematics and testing information she could get her hands on. Moira had slipped into the role of diplomat publically, although in truth she reported first to the intelligence arm, and then to her father, the only commanding officer she truly respected and obeyed. 

Tom, who publically and privately wished only to fly, publically bowed under to his father’s pressure that he follow the command track. And while flying was his first love, Tom was as committed to the anti-Cardassian cause as the rest of his family. Of the three children, he remembered the least of their life before Owen Paris was captured. He had very few memories of a father who loved and played with him. But he respected his father beyond all others, and would do as ordered. Besides, he knew that a helmsman would learn very little that might help defeat the Cardassians when open war came. 

It was to flying though, that Tom was at first assigned, and he and his father very seriously discussed what would happen if Tom pushed for a different posting as an Ensign. It was decided that getting a reputation as difficult would not help them at that point, but that Tom was to keep his eyes open for a way to get assigned to larger and more important ships. The opportunity, when it presented itself, was an accident.

Inherently a good man, Tom had difficulty with his father’s order that he blame someone else for a computational error. Technically no one was at fault. But Owen reminded Tom that if Tom claimed one thing, then recanted, he would be disgraced. It would be a way to very publicly cut ties with Starfleet, get him out to the newly delineated DMZ where a shooting war had developed. Tom understood that. So he forced Starfleet to strip him of rank and cashier him, and Owen publicly disowned his son, then privately congratulated him and gave him the equipment and secure codes to report back once he reached the war zone.

* * *

#### The King’s Shilling

Tom was soon haunting bars, looking for work. He spoke little of his past, and acted the part of a drunk and angry young man. He dumped his drinks though, and used both his body and his keen ears to gather information. The resistance, he reported, were called the Maquis, and among the most respected was a former ‘Fleet officer called Chakotay. Moira sent the information ‘Fleet intelligence had.

Chakotay was a native of Trebus, in the Dorvan system. It was a world settled by Amerindians during the early days of exploration. Chakotay’s family was part of the hereditary council, his father having been a headsman. But Chakotay’s father, Kolopak, had been killed by Cardassians. Chakotay had subsequently resigned his commission with Starfleet, tattooed his face with the symbol of his tribe, and gone to war in his father’s name. This man, the Paris clan decided, was the one to approach. He could be trusted. Tom just had to engineer a meeting and an invitation to join his cell.

Opportunity came in a dingy bar in the fifth arrondissement of Paris, tucked away in a back alley near the ancient Universite Sorbonne. Tom was sitting and pretending to drink, eyes and ears pricked as always. He noticed Chakotay enter, and thanked his lucky stars. The Maquis leader was accompanied by two equally big and burly men, one of them in an obviously poor mood. They began drinking heavily, and the sullen one soon started a brawl. Chakotay and the third man brawled at their friend’s side, and Tom let himself be pulled into the fight.

With a flash of a devil-may-care smile, Tom jumped into the melee gladly. He restrained himself, not fighting to his full ability. Still, he defended himself ably, and when he was able, slung his fist across to defend the angry man who had started the brawl. The big brunette shot him a sullen look, and Tom merely grinned, knowing his mouth was crimson with blood, bruises already rising on his pale face. They won before too much longer, and Tom grinned at the others again, then sauntered back toward the bar as if he had no intentions beyond getting back to his drinking after a rousing fight.

“Hey, blondie,” the angry man called, and Tom turned, raising an eyebrow in question. “Why’d you decide on our side?”

“I always support the underdog when I can,” Tom said with a shrug. “Three of you, the whole fucking bar of them, it wasn’t that hard,” he said with that same devilish grin, then jerked his head toward the bar. “Beer?” The angry man looked at him consideringly, then nodded. 

“I’ve seen your face before,” the angry man said, settling at Tom’ side, Chakotay and the other man settling at the fighter’s other side. 

“Most of the quadrant has,” Tom admitted with a shrug, then shotgunned his beer before turning slightly and offering his hand. “Tom Paris. You wouldn’t happen to be in the market for a pilot would you? It’s the only damn thing I’m good for, other than drinking and fighting.” The angry man scoffed, shook his head, and took his hand.

“Ken Dalby, and I’d better defer to the boss on that one,” the big brunette introduced himself, jerking his head at Chakotay. 

“Even if I did need a pilot, why would I want one who was drummed out of ‘Fleet for lying, one who lost a ship and three souls?” Chakotay asked, eyes narrowed.

“Because it was computational error, not pilot error, and I lied to protect the honor of my family,” Tom said, lifting his chin and letting his eyes flash blue fire. Moira’s dossier was as insightfully correct as ever. “My father has served with honor his whole life, my sisters have their careers ahead of them. I didn’t want my mistake to reflect on them.” The suspicion cleared from Chakotay’s face, and he dipped his head in respect.

“And you do need a pilot,” the third man said, then reached across to offer his hand. “I’m Ayala, that’s Chakotay.”

“Pleasure,” Tom said, just the tiniest hint of innuendo, and Ayala blushed even as Chakotay bristled and Dalby chortled. “So what is it you need a pilot for? Because if it spits in the face of the Federation and this stupid assed treaty they’ve signed, you can sign me up for it. I’m not interested in collaborating with the snakes, so if it’s shipping tithes, I’ll respectfully decline.” At that, Ayala grinned broadly, goosing Chakotay in the side.

“Come by the port tomorrow around noon,” Chakotay acceded. “Someone from my ship will find you. We’ll discuss it then.” Tom made a show of measuring the man with his eyes, then nodded, and flagged the barkeep. He ordered a round of whiskey, and they shot their drinks swiftly to seal the bargain. Twenty four hours later, Tom was at the helm of the Maquis raider _Val Jean_ , running fast with sensors wide for the DMZ and a Maquis hideout.

* * *

#### To the Barricade

By the end of his first week with the _Val Jean_ , Tom knew that they had decided correctly. Chakotay was a deeply honorable man, fighting not only in vengeance for those killed in the harrowing of Trebus, but in defense of those worlds not yet conquered. The Maquis in general were unable to be too picky in their acceptance of willing fighters. There were certainly those on board the _Val Jean_ that Tom would never trust, including the sociopathic Betazoid Lon Suder and a Bajoran named Seska who had an obvious desperation for Chakotay’s affection. 

Tom was as genius at bouncing comm signals around to disguise them as he was at flying, and was soon sending and receiving with impunity. A month after his joining the crew of the _Val Jean_ he was the chief helmsman, and finally got permission from his father to do what he had wanted almost from the first; tell his captain exactly who he was and what was standing behind him. Anxiety churning in his gut but nowhere at evidence in his bearing, Tom chimed for entrance at the door to the captain’s quarters.

“Come,” Chakotay ordered from within, and Tom spun the old fashioned bulkhead wheel and shouldered the heavy door open. “Tom, what’s up?” Chakotay asked, and Tom couldn’t help his smile. The informality of the Maquis appealed to him. Despite the rigor of his upbringing, actual Starfleet discipline had been stifling to Tom’s free flying spirit, as he had not actually respected the officers he was expected to make his obediences to. 

“Captain, I need to tell you a few things, and I need you to listen to it all before you decide to space me,” Tom said with a guileless smile. He respected the man deeply, almost as much as his own father although the affection he felt for Chakotay was an entirely different sort than filial. Chakotay’s brow wrinkled in a thoughtful frown, and he gestured at one of the chairs. Tom swallowed and sat, taking a deep breath. 

“I know you know who I am, and who my family is,” Tom quietly began. “What you don’t know is that while I’m the only one openly serving in the resistance, my entire family is behind me, serving with me. I - you would have known, I think, that my father was captured when I was very young, and held as a prisoner by the Cardassians? You were high enough to have access to the Arias Expedition records?”

“Yes, I remember. It was a pretty big deal when the _Al Batani_ returned to Earth while I was a Cadet, and not long before I defected, I served aboard a ship given a similar mission patrolling near Cardassian space. We were all briefed on the Arias Expedition at that time,” Chakotay said, nodding. His face didn’t convey understanding yet, but Tom had a feeling it wouldn’t be long.

“I don’t remember much of my father before he left on the _Al Batani_ Tom admitted, watching Chakotay carefully. “My sisters, my mother, they tell me he was always by the book, but he used to smile. He loved them, loved us all, dearly. But he came back different. I remember I was just eight, and my sisters and I were playing a game they had made up. It was called Snake Hunting. They made me pretend I was a Cardassian, and I ran and hid. They found me and kicked the snot out of me.” Chakotay snorted softly at that, smiling slightly. Tom smiled in return.

“He called us to attention, and told us we were never to play that game again. If we really wanted to hunt Cardassians, we had to be careful, because the Federation wouldn’t go to war with such a powerful adversary,” Tom said, and nodded at Chakotay’s dawning expression of understanding. 

“He began training us the very next day. We engineered my exit from Starfleet, although the exact circumstances were an accident. My sisters are deep plants, as my parents are. My entire life Captain, I’ve been trained to help you, help those who would eventually rise against Cardassia when the Federation would not. I’ve been reporting to my father from the beginning, and he and my mother and sisters have been assisting me. I will understand if you feel betrayed, but understand that I had to be certain I could trust you before I revealed this. You, and only you, do I trust with this. But I’m yours to command sir.” Chakotay stood and paced back and forth a few steps, then turned back to Tom, staring at him inscrutably.

“You engineered our meeting,” Chakotay accused, and Tom nodded. “Your father, he directed you specifically to my cell?”

“He did. Your rationale for fighting was one we could understand, and the fact that you had been ‘Fleet meant we knew you had training and would run a tight ship,” Tom said. “Not all the Maquis are as honorable as you sir. We understand that all hands are needed in this fight, but we wanted to ensure that I was placed somewhere where I could do some good for the cause. We needed a cell headed by someone we could back wholeheartedly. I’m placing myself, my entire family at your mercy,” Tom said, half choking on the words, and then he slid from the chair onto the floor, kneeling, hands on thighs, waiting with his chin dropped to his chest. 

Rough work boots entered Tom’s vision, and he glanced up briefly, then leaned forward to hug Chakotay’s legs in the ancient pose of supplication, his face pressed to Chakotay’s knees. He was utterly vulnerable, and would remain so until he was either accepted or destroyed. Chakotay’s breath caught in his throat, and for a long moment he just stood, still as a statue. 

“I’m yours,” Tom rasped, his every fibre held in tense waiting. Finally though, Chakotay rested his hand on Tom’s head, tangling his fingers in the fine silk of the blonde strands. He carded through the soft hair, then squeezed Tom’s shoulder.

“Get up,” Chakotay said gently, and Tom rose fluidly, blue eyes flashing. “You took a hell of a risk,” Chakotay said, and Tom smiled softly. 

“I obeyed the orders of the only man I trusted until a month ago,” Tom replied evenly, and Chakotay smiled, clasping the younger man’s shoulder, then pulling him into an embrace. 

“Tell me everything you’ve reported to your cell,” Chakotay requested when he pulled back, smiling warmly into Tom’s eyes. Tom smiled back, and let himself be guided to the sofa next to Chakotay. He curled one long leg under himself as he sat, leaning forward and reporting to his captain. Chakotay listened carefully, especially to Tom’s suspicions about Suder, Seska, and their newest crewman, Tuvok of New Vulcan. 

Like many modern Vulcans, Tuvok was mixed race. Most Vulcans were since the destruction of their ancestral planet by Nero. Tuvok’s genealogy also included both Betazoid and human ancestors, and Tom didn’t trust him at all, not least because he had been, until recently, ‘Fleet. While it was true that New Vulcan was situated near the border with Cardassian space, and that many Vulcans had joined the Maquis and proved invaluable, there was something that Tom’s well honed instincts didn’t trust about the newcomer.

“Can you watch them for me?” Chakotay requested, and Tom nodded, the smile long fallen away. 

“I’ll know if they’re communicating, and with whom,” Tom promised. “Suder just makes me nervous, he’s a loose cannon, but I don’t think it’s a case of split loyalties, just sociopathy. Seska and Tuvok though, there’s just something off about them, something other than the fact that Tuvok wouldn’t know a joke if it bit him in the ass and Seska being a paranoid and vicious bitch.” Chakotay chortled softly at that.

**Author's Note:**

> reformatted from a chapter in a multifandom fic to standalone. If you commented on the previous fic, thank you, I appreciate it even though the comments have been deleted.


End file.
